The Classified Files of Patient 17285
by Elegant Catastrophy
Summary: Arkham patient #17285 was brought in because she was assumed to idolize the villains of Gotham. Isn't that like dropping a fresh fruit into a basket of rotten ones? This is her story. M for language, violence, and subject matter.
1. Patient 17285

Hi there everyone~!

This is my first Batman fanfic so please be gentle.

I came up with this idea a few days back and haven't been able to get it out of my head, so here it is. I hope you all enjoy it since I had fun writing it.

I have a few chapters planned out, but for the most part I'll be writing on a whim. Enough of my mindless babble, please enjoy the story!

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**The Classified Files of Patient #17285**

_Prologue: Patient #17285_

I am patient here at Arkham Asylum, home of the crazies of Gotham. Inside you'll find some of the most notorious serial killers whose minds are too far gone to save, men and women just like you and me who have fallen victim to the confines of their thoughts, and sadistic villains who would like nothing more then to watch the world _burn_. Most importantly however, you'll find some of the most intelligent minds to ever grace the city's underground within the walls of Arkham Asylum. I would like to tell you that I am a member of the last group, hell even the first would make me seem at least _remotely_ interesting, but sadly I belong to neither category. I in fact, am part of the, 'I-don't-belong-here-you've-got-the-wrong-man' group, but then again I suppose _everyone_ here believes that, at least most do. I'm different though, honest I am! I've never killed a man nor robbed a bank; stolen priceless jewels or even shoplifted for that matter. I admit I've cheated on a test or two, but really who hasn't?

I don't expect you to believe me though, no ones else does. Even the rest of the patients here think there's something wrong with me. I suppose though, with the amount of drugs I've taken during my stay here, I might as well have loosened up a few screws if you know what I mean. We're getting off track. The point is that I, patient #17285, do_ not _belong within the white walls of Arkham Asylum.

What's that? You want to know my name? I don't think it's really important, but if you absolutely _have_ to know everything, (like a certain patient I know) I'll tell you. My name is Rachel Ann Dawson; sounds pretty average doesn't it? I think it fits me perfectly since I'm a pretty average girl myself; at least I _was_ anyway. For some reason, being thrown in Arkham escalates your popularity by ten fold.

I was a nobody, a face in the crowd at the prestigious Gotham University. I know what you're thinking; the people who named it had absolutely _no_ creativity right? I'd have to agree with you. Anyway we're getting off point here again. I was just another student studying to become an actress. You know when you're little you have those careers set in your mind that you usually grow out of for one reason or another, like a fireman, a veterinarian, pop star, or an actress? Yeah, I never grew out of it, it just seemed to fit you know? Well while I attended Gotham U. I had a few people I talked to, they weren't so much friends as they were_ acquaintances_, but I was never part of the popular crowd to begin with, even in high school. Now what you have to understand about theatre classes is that it's pretty much one big clique. You either fit in or you didn't, you were either noticed or you weren't. I was part of the last group obviously. People knew who I was, but never really paid me any mind. Now however, as soon as word got out I was in with the crazies, hell I might as well have been the talk of the town. Everyone wanted to know what I had done or what was wrong with me, and when no one could quite come up with an answer, they made things up. Apparently I had robbed a bank (_because it was so cliché it had to be true right?_)and butchered several innocents, using their blood to leave frightening messages on the wall; all under the name '_Knife Point'_. It didn't seem to matter to them that killing people and robbing a bank would leave me in _prison_, not so much an asylum. Whatever, it wasn't like I could stop the rumors from spreading in here right?

Knife Point. The very name made me shiver. I _hated_ knives, always had and probably always would. There was just something about them that made my skin crawl. Perhaps it was the way they looked when slowly ripping through thin human skin? Or maybe it was the thought of something so _simple_ ending your life. Either way, knives just made me uncomfortable. You had to get up close and personal with someone to kill them with a knife. You had to feel the resistance that the muscle would create when stabbing someone, watch the life leave their eyes. For some that was half the fun, but for me that was just too much. How they came up with the name Knife Point was beyond me.

So I bet you're wondering how I ended up here, the real reason anyhow. I promise you it's nothing spectacular like what the rumors might say. To understand the reason I got put in here, you have to know my family. My family consists of my father, mother, and myself; no brothers, no sisters, not even a pet goldfish. The thing about my family is that they're all a bunch of _good guys_. What I mean by this is that they always stand on the side of good and what is morally correct. My mother was a lawyer, my father, a cop. They practically worship the air that Batman glides through. When reading the Harry Potter books, they stood on the Gryffindor side one hundred percent. During Disney movies they rooted for the good guys, no questions asked. They never once gave a bad guy a second glance, never read a book where evil was questioned to be right, and heaven _forbid_ they ever feel pity for how the bad guys became bad. My parents were the picture of justice, the essence of what was right, and the model citizens that would call the cops if they even suspected you were doing drugs or keeping a pet that wasn't licensed.

I was the complete opposite. I was the notorious 'Slytherin' in my family, the one who always cheered on the bad guys. For some reason or another I was always attracted to them, drawn to their presence and awed by their motives. Did you ever notice that the bad guys usually had the most detailed history and the most characterization? I did. Now I'm not talking about your everyday, run of the mill bad guy who put a gun to your head and demanded your wallet. I'm talking about the ones with_ history_, the ones who were wrongfully cast aside from the rest of society because they were_ different_; the ones who more often then not ended up in_ Arkham Asylum_. Funny how fate likes to play with you isn't it?

Now I'm not saying I wanted to be a bad guy. I was perfectly happy with my normal life, if not a little bored with it. I just found what many considered evil to be highly fascinating. Maybe I should have studied to become a Psychologist. Oh well, too late for _that_ now.

This is where we come to the conclusion of my thrilling tale. You see I liked to draw; I'm that good though, I'd say I'm_ decent _if anything. I kept these sketch books with drawings of all the famous villains in Arkham, you name one and I probably drew it. I had pictures of them doing their thing, you know robbing, killing, blowing things up; all that_ fun _stuff. Of course I kept them hidden, there was _no way _I was going to let my parents find them. I even had back up sketch books full of flowers and angels just for that reason. In my 'secret stash' there were also notebooks that contained my musings and various theories about the many villains that I adored. I even went so far as to make my own stories where my character was an evil super villain who struck fear into the hearts of Gotham with nothing but her wit and a single knife (something I added so no one would think it was me).

Huh...maybe _that's_ where the name Knife Point may have come from.

Come to think of it; it _did _sort of have a nice ring to it.

Of course all my drawings, theories, and stories were just for _fun_, a creative _outlet_ of sorts. I never meant any harm by them.

My parents thought otherwise.

Yup, that's right, they found the _stash_ and boy were they surprised. I never did find out how they found it, only that when I came home from classes one day I found my _entire collection_ sitting on the coffee table in the front room. My parents were waiting patiently on the couch just behind it, and in their hands was the slip of paper that would condemn me to the life that I now lived. The consent form already _signed_ that officially committed me to Arkham Asylum.

Oh yeah, my parents_ loved _me. I could just feel the love _radiate _from them in _waves_.

They didn't even give me a chance to_ defend _myself! The next minute the men in white coats arrived and strapped me up to a rather uncomfortable dolly like contraption and there I went. Next stop Arkham Asylum.

My parents didn't even shed a tear.

So there I was a patient in one of Gothams most renowned facilities. I told the doctors, guards, therapists, anyone that would listen that I wasn't crazy, that there was _nothing_ wrong with me! They must have heard that about a million times by now, and so like the others, they paid me no mind.

The therapists thought that I idolized the darkness in mankind and that I desired to _become_ one of them; something about my life not having enough excitement or whatever. They said that I just lacked the attention I needed as a child.

Is it just me, or does_ every _therapist think that the root of all your problems stems from your childhood?

Anyway, I guess that's just about everything there is to know about how I ended up here in Arkham. There's more of my story to tell, but for now I'll leave you with this.

I will tell you though that I've made a few friends here at Arkham, friends with the very people I've dreamed about meeting for _years_.

Maybe the doctors were right. Maybe I _did_ idolize the villains of Gotham.

I'll tell you one thing though; the doctors here aren't as smart as they think they are. Why would you put a person who idolizes notorious super villains in with said super villains. Isn't that like dropping a fresh fruit into a basket of rotten ones?

Wouldn't that only cause the patient to get _worse_?

_I think it did_.

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So that's the prologue. I should be posting the first actual chapter later tonight or so.

Let me know if you liked it and review! More then likely if I get more reviews I'll get the chapters out faster.  
Critiques are loved, flames not so much.

If at any point you have an idea for the story or have something you would like to happen go ahead and suggest it. I already have an idea for the end however.

I'm also thinking about having the Riddler post a riddle at the end of each chapter and have you, the lovely readers, figure it out. Google and other search engines are not allowed, though I can't very well watch you and make sure can I?

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it! Don't forget to review~!


	2. Just Another Day

Hello everyone~! It's been quite a while hasn't it? My apologies, I've been rather busy as of late.

First off I'd love to thank my first reviewer, .. Thank you so much for your suggestions and your words of encouragement. I planned originally on having the rest of the story in third person all along, but you just reinforced that idea. You really must have read my mind or something because I plan to have this story start out rather light hearted [as light hearted as it can get in Arkham anyway] and have it get progressively darker as it goes on. To answer your question though, yes the love triangle is what I'm going to be focusing on as far as romance goes but as I wrote this particual chapter, I've developed a few more ideas to stir up some drama and such. I hope you enjoy ^^

To my second reviewer, Miss Gypsy Willow, I do plan on continuing this story if this chapter isn't proof enough. Though at the moment I don't know how frequent my updates will be, I'm gunning for an every other week kind of deal provided life doesn't get in my way. This Batman phase just won't die so as long as it has room to thrive I'll be pumping out the chapters. In fact, it's a new years resolution of mine to finish a fanfic, so lets hope this is the one!

If you pardon my rambling we'll begin. I do appreciate the reviews and all of you added this to your alert and favorite list! My hearts go out to you! Now let's get started shall we? I'm just getting into the swing of things here and so I'm liking the direction Rachel is going, hopfully she'll grow on you all too. Let me know if there is anything I can do to prevent her slipping into becoming a Mary Sue. I don't think she is now but of course I'd like the opinion of others. I'm rambling again aren't I?

I present to you chapter two of The Classified Files of Patient #17285! Enjoy~!

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**The Classified Files of Patient #17285**

_Chapter 1: Just Another Day_

"Checkmate", cooed a charmingly cheeky voice that rang with a hint of arrogance. The Riddler, or rather Edward Nygma as he was known inside Arkham's white coated walls, gingerly waved a black colored chess piece, specifically the bishop, in his hand with a snarky smirk playing on his lips. This was the third game in less then an hour.

"Bullshit, you _cheated_!" hissed another from opposite the small wooden table. This voice was particularly feminine, yet it was anything but soft and sweet. Rachel Dawson was _not_ very happy at the moment, thus the tone in her voice was sharp and coarse, as was her choice of words. It did however; carry that silky sort of tune that laced its way into whatever she said. She _was_ a woman after all. Rachel leaned against the wooden chairs full back rest, her arms crossed over her ample sized chest as she narrowed her eyes at the chessboard before her. This was the third straight win for Nygma, and if there was one thing Rachel hated more then loosing, it was loosing _multiple times_.

Whoever came up with the saying 'the third times the charm' should shoot themselves. They obviously had _never_ played chess with Edward Nygma before.

"Language my dear" he tutted, still holding the chess piece between the tips of his middle and index finger as he watched Rachel scowl. He just loved to press her buttons; it was oddly self satisfying and only caused his smirk to broaden and his eyes to shine with mirth. Rachel scoffed as she turned her head upwards in a snooty sort of way. Her emerald colored eyes followed the chess piece Nygma was waving with distain. "I hate you" she hissed. "You _love_ me" he countered. Rachel rolled her eyes, feeling a tinge of warmth spread to her cheeks. She fought it down with some difficulty.

"Don't flatter yourself" came her reply as she uncrossed her arms and began picking up the discarded chess pieces that lay spread across the table like a plastic battle field. Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter to those outside of Arkham, rolled his eyes. He had been watching the two inmates play for the past hour. "It's _Nygma_" he said, giving Rachel a blank stare as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Flattering himself is just about the only thing he _can_ do around here". This earned him a curt glare from the man in question. "I do other things" Edward defended, "You both obviously hadn't seen my latest work" Jervis stared as Rachel raised a delicately thin eyebrow. "Steal old Two Faces toothbrush again?" she questioned, putting the pieces back into the cardboard box. It seemed she would be the only one cleaning up today. "I'll have you know I gave him clues to where it was" replied Edward, trying his best to protect his fragile ego. He knew it wasn't the most brilliant thing in the world to do, but it did end up getting under Harvey's skin, which was the point all along. "The riddle written in toothpaste on his mirror was _so_ cliché" Rachel said, she wasn't going to be tactful with the man who just crushed her in chess three times in a row. "_Was not_!" he yelled, slamming the round wooden table with his fist, "It was _genius_!" Both Rachel and Jervis stayed silent, knowing that if either of them were to say differently it would only end up in a childlike 'was not' 'was too' 'was not' type of battle; not something either of them cared to take part in or listen to.

"Heya boys~!" rang the affectionate voice of the Clown Princess herself, her New York like accent hanging thick in the air and breaking the cloud of awkward silence that had enveloped the table. She draped a dainty arm around Rachel's slender shoulders, the side of her head pressed against hers in a childlike yet affectionate gesture. "We're taking her now kiddies; you've had her long _enough_" she hissed, narrowing her eyes at the two men. Why was it that even when Harley tried to be threatening, her childish disposition turned it into a rather adorable display that eliminated her original intentions? Edward and Jervis merely eyed each other as if the same thought was being passed between them. Simultaneously they turned their blank stares towards Rachel who had uncertain look about her face. When dealing with Harley Quinn, Rachel realized that anything could happen. One minute you could be happily having a food fight with the woman, then the next you could be hanging outside a five story building by your toes because you got pizza in her hair. It was a wonder she was ever a therapist.

Quick as a flash Rachel found herself being towed by the ear over to another table on the other side of the room. "Sorry boys~!" she sang as she skipped away, her fingers pinching the flesh of the other, more _unfortunate_ girls ear. "I'll be back!" Rachel told the boys as she flashed them an apologetic look.

Eddie gave her quick thumbs up before whispering to Jervis out the corner of his lips. "No she won't" Jervis only nodded in reply.

Now already on the opposite side of the room, Rachel was soon plopped into a rather uncomfortable chair much like the one she was previously sitting in. Pamela Isly, Poison Ivy to those knew better, was reclining gracefully in a chair similar to hers. Even in her god awful orange scrubs she still managed to look as sultry as a siren. That woman could pull off anything, it was official. Her arms were crossed under her generous bosom that, Rachel noticed with a depressed sigh, put hers to shame. Suddenly she felt incredibly insecure and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was sitting with two of Gothams most notorious criminals; although that did contribute to the shaking in her knees. It was a good thing she was sitting down.

If you were to ask Rachel how she would feel about meeting her long time idols before she was thrown into the lions den she would have told you that she would have boldly walked up to them, introduced herself and told them that she was their biggest fan, as if they were some type of celebrities. Now it was a whole new story. Having witnessed first hand what these idols of hers were like in person and having to listen to their cries of insanity at night when they clawed at the cement walls or pounded on the glass doors while threatening the guards gave them a whole new light. It also helped Rachel realize something that she should have months ago. She was scared of them. Not scared in a way that most Gothomites were scared of their villains, but in a way that made her want to hide in a corner and rock herself to sleep. Sure she acted friendly enough with Nygma and Tetch, but they had more humanity then most of the villains here combined, at least she _thought_ so anyway. Ignorance is bliss as they say. It was lucky for her that she was immediately taken in by the two rouges before people like Joker or even Ivy here took her in. Rachel involuntarily shuttered, she did _not_ want to think of where she might be if that were the case.

Ivy eyed Rachel through thick black lashes; a knowing look etched upon her lovely face as if she knew what Rachel was feeling. She probably could, that was what scared her the most. "Now the gangs all here!" Harley exclaimed as she seated herself in the chair opposite Ivy, leaving poor Rachel stuck in the middle. "Indeed" drawled Ivy's smooth voice as she tossed her flaming red hair over her shoulder and leaned forward to rest her arms on the length of the table. "I'm just going to cut to the chase alright" she began, her emerald eyes piercing through Rachel's. For some reason she got the feeling that Ivy didn't like her too much. Then again, she didn't really like _anyone_ besides Harley.

"We're breaking out tonight" Rachel blinked, not really understanding why they would tell her of all people. Ivy waited a beat for the girl to understand, to 'get the joke' as Harley might say. Seconds of uncomfortable silence passed the trio of women before Ivy growled in agitation. "We need a third party" she hissed, her red lips curled into an unpleasant sneer, "You're a fellow woman and Harley here likes your reputation" "That's right!" she piped in with a grin. "Personally I could care less, but I'm not about to take some loose cannon like Dent or some pain in the ass like Nygma" Rachel opened her mouth to voice her opinion, but Ivy wouldn't have it. "You're not to utter a word of this to anyone. If the rest found out they'd just want to tag along. We figured we'd be doing you a favor if we got you out since you _clearly_ don't belong here"

Ouch, that hurt. Even though it was true she didn't have to put it like that; it made her feel like she was _disposable_. Swallowing a bundle of nerves she flashed a weak smile at the girls and subconsciously fiddled with the hem of her baggy shirt; a habit that only showed itself when she was incredibly nervous. Where exactly would she go when she escaped, if they got that far?

Ivy eyed her with an expectant look as she waited for her to agree to their little escapade. "What would I do once I got out?" she hesitantly asked as she sunk into herself, fearing what might happen to her. One beat passed between them, then two, and then three. "That's not my problem" was Ivy's slow reply. Rachel could just see the woman trying to restrain herself from lashing out. If it wasn't for the fact that she had to play the part of the good little inmate she might just have rung her little neck. Thank _god_ they were leaving. "You could come with me!" Harley exclaimed, her face lit up thanks to her sudden eureka moment. "Mistah J. was just telling me the other day _'Harley I think it's time we get some new help'_, you could come be a henchgirl! Mistah J. wouldn't mind" she explained, doing a rather poor interpretation of the Joker. Of course in Rachel's mind that was _completely_ out of the question. She didn't stay in Arkham's walls and not hear the stories of how certain villains treated their henchmen, women or not. Joker was by far the worst in both treatment and employment. You're lucky if you got even a small cut out of the deal; your payment was walking away with your life.

The problem was letting Harley down gently without insulting the man she held so dear to her heart. Truth be told, the Joker scared her more then any of the villains that inhabited Arkham. Croc was second on the list just because of his massive height and drastically short temper. Those fangs did nothing for her either.

"Why didn't Joker just take you with him when he broke out?" Rachel asked, her question posed more to Harley then to Ivy. Harley sighed through partially parted lips as her eyes clouded over. No doubt she was day dreaming. "Pudding makes me break out on my own. It's a test of skill or something like that. Isn't he _thoughtful_?" she all but swooned. Rachel's weak smile faltered a bit. "Yeah Harl, he's _real_ thoughtful" she replied dead pan as she averted her eyes to the tables surface. That girl was _beyond _help.

Feeling eyes on her she chanced a glance from the table to Harley and regretted it the moment her eyes caught the exuberant expression that played on her adorable face. Who in their right mind could say _no_ to that face? With that pout that the woman was using Rachel almost felt inclined to say yes; but she didn't want to. She _really_ didn't want to. Perhaps she should just change the subject? Taking a glance at Ivy shot that idea down real quick. That woman was not going to let the subject of her escape die out that easily unless something unusual or unsettling happened.

"_He's staring again_" growled Ivy's silky smooth voice laced with something more then annoyance; try complete agitation.

Wow, speak of the devil. This was almost _too_ perfect.

Of course Rachel and everyone at that table knew what _that_ meant, so did the rest of the people who spent a majority of their time in the rec room. Jonathan Crane, or Scarecrow as he called himself while out on the prowl, had a serious staring problem, at least when Rachel got there anyway. She could be playing chess, reading, or just doing her own thing and when she'd look up, bam! He'd be staring at her with that same, blank expression on his face. Over time she'd tried to ignore it, and for the most part it worked, but some of the more hot tempered members of Arkham did not like him staring, even if it wasn't pointed at them. Rachel couldn't blame them, it was just plain creepy.

Rachel hesitantly averted her gaze from the table to Harley who was looking to her left. Glancing at Ivy, Rachel saw she was looking to her right. There was only one direction left to look, and as Rachel let her eyes wander straight ahead she caught the blank stare of one Jonathan Crane, as to be expected, peering over the spine of a book entitled The Count of Monte Cristo. His icy blue eyes were void of all emotion as was the rest of his face. It was as if he was studying her every emotion, every thought, and every little detail that crossed her mind. She recalled he used to be a psychologist, a thumping good one if she wasn't mistaken. Perhaps she was his new project; fresh meat in Arkham's walls and a new brain to pick apart. Everyone needed a hobby right?

The 'master of fear', that's what they called him; able to expose you to your greatest fears just by a simple release of toxins that worked its way into your brain and caused you to hallucinate. Rumor had it the hallucinations seemed almost real. Rachel didn't care to find out.

"I swear one of these days that bozo's going to get what's coming to 'em" Harley growled, her cheerful and lovesick mood gone like the wind. Pity, it was rather becoming of her. "Doesn't he know it's _rude to stare_!" she dragged out, intentionally letting the last bit of her sentence rise about the noise of the rec room. Jonathan didn't seem phased in the least, in fact he tossed a glare in Harley's direction before turning his attention back to Rachel. While Harley continued to fume, Ivy was doing her best to console her while keeping her anger in check. It wouldn't do well to be put into a high security cell for the night because she strangled Crane for staring. Nope, she'd have to bite her tongue and be civilized; Damnit.

How long had he been staring? Rachel wondered, her eyes unwavering as she boldly stared back. So maybe _boldly_ wasn't the right word, apprehensively certainly was. Rule number one here at Arkham, right up there with 'don't insult a rogues gimmick' and 'never bring up the Bat after a therapy session', all the good feelings they got after therapy, if any, would be a waste. If therapy didn't go so well, then you might just end up dead.

Where were we? Oh that's right! The third rule number one.

Never, _ever_ turn your back on a rogue under any circumstance if you can help it. That goes double if you picked a fight with one, broke another one of the 'rule number ones', or they were staring at you for no apparent reason; much like Jonny boy here. Rachel knew the rules, and now that she was staring right back at him, she wanted nothing more then to look away. He made her uncomfortable for the obvious reasons. It didn't help that she was probably right in her assumption as to his reason for staring. Jonathan Crane was right up there with the rogues she wanted nothing to do with.

As she continued to stare back she could faintly hear the bickering between Ivy and Harley. Noise seemed to deafen as her heart beat picked up. Her palms began to sweat and her fingers once again continued to fiddle with the hem of her shirt. Rachel was sure she was shaking with nerves, she certainly _felt_ so.

From the other side of the room Edward and Jervis would cast wary glances from Crane to Rachel and back again. Nygma was one of those rogues who absolutely _hated_ people staring. It just _bugged_ him. The fact that Rachel looked incredibly uncomfortable only made his agitation grow.

Her breath hitched, Rachel was unable to hold his piercing gaze any longer and averted her eyes to the space just right of his face. Crane rose a delicate eyebrow in response; the first sign of movement in hours.

"Hey _buddy_!" screamed Harley, far to worked up to contain her anger. She stood up from her chair, causing it to rock back gently as she stood with her feet apart, one and on her hip while the other pointing an accusing finger at Crane, and her upper body leaning forward only slightly she yelled "Take a picture, it'll _last longer_!" Rachel immediately looked at the angered woman and, like everyone else in the room, turned to see Cranes reaction.

His eyebrows pinched in slight frustration as if he heard something rather loud an unpleasant, he sneered and raised the book over his face, continuing to read as if nothing had happened.

"Man that guy _pisses me off_" Harley growled before plopping back down in her chair and kicking her feet up to rest on the table's surface. "You and everyone else" Ivy commented, forgetting completely about their original topic. "Just look at Nygma, he looks like he wants to _murder_ Crane" The six pairs of eyes moved to rest on Edwards fuming form. He did _not_ look happy. Jervis was waiting patiently for him to make the next move on the chess board.

Suddenly a pair of guards and a rather cheerful doctor entered through the doors and halted just feet away from the entrance. "Alright everybody~" sang the voice of one Dr. Michaels, "Time for group therapy!" With a clap of his hands everyone began to rise from their seats, some happy about the break in routine, others not so much. A smile graced the doctor's handsome face as he adjusted his black rimmed glasses. This man was _way_ too happy about his job. "You all know the drill, group A follow me, group 1 wait for Dr. Miller to arrive~!" he said, turning on his heel and walking out the doors accompanied by the two guards.

Rachel took the opportunity to regroup with Eddie and Jervis, scurrying away from the pair of women who might just make her sit next to them in therapy. Rachel was part of group A, as was Eddie, Jervis, and a few others. They preferred to keep the high security patients together; it made sense.

In the back of the room Jonathan Crane stood up with picture perfect posture, closed the book and replaced it in the wooden book case in a single fluid motion. Straightening himself out he followed the crowd out of the doors, his eyes locked on the back of a certain Rachel Dawson.

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There you go ladies and gents! I hope you liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm trying to keep the characters in character to the best of my ability.

Keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter entitled _'Suffocating and Dying Alone' _We'll get more screen time for Jonny boy I promise!

Please review! If any of you have your own Batman fics featuring our two rogues or would just like to share a great discovery, give me heads up and I'll put them up the next time I post

I think next time I'll start posting a riddle for you all to try to figure out to keep Eddie happy, other times I might change it up and do something else. It really depends on how I feel I suppose. Anyway review and I'll see you next time for the next installment of The Classified Files of Patient #17285. Hope to see you then!


	3. Suffocating and Dying Alone

Hello everyone! No I am not dead or in any sense of the word. I've just been busy with life. However I have recently gotten back into the groove of writing so hopefully this means more chapters for you! Before we resume our story, here are a few words from me to a few of you lovely reviewers.

LilyHellsing: Thank you so much for the compliments! The title just sort of came to me when I was brainstorming the story in my head one day. I've always been facinated by the idea of having your name stripped away and replaced by a number. This was the perfect way to dabble in that. Hope you enjoy the rest of this story!

WhySoSerious1992: You shouldn't think your stories suck, that's no way to grow. Just keep writing! I'll head over and give your story a try.

Tapidum Lucidum: I had just finished reading one of the comics and she was very "I hate everyone except Harley" so I translated that into my story. I'll work on toning her down if she's that bad. Thanks for the critique!

horsewhisper3: Thanks! Don't you worry, I plan on finishing this story. I hate when writers just leave you hanging.

Black391: Gosh, you're going to make me blush! Thank you so much! I'll update as fast as I can!

RachelGoesRawr: -laughs- well I'm glad I could make your day. I've always loved that name.

Kijo Kurosaki- Great! I love riddles! Too bad I'm not the best at figuring them out. Sadly I think Nygma would group me in with the rest of the ignorant people of Gotham. I'll give it a whirl though. Is it 'eve'?

Thats it for now ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews, I take them all to heart and they really do keep me writing. I won't be abandoning this or any of my stories. I have too much planned to do that. Anyway I hope you all enjoy this story. Don't forget to check out that riddle at the end! I'm still looking for a BETA reader by the way!

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**The Classified Files of Patient # 17285**

**_Chapter 2: Suffocating and Dying Alone_**

Group sessions were never fun, at least that's what Rachel had come to discover. It always took forever to get started, the room was always kept at an uncomfortable freezing temperature, and there was always the off chance of a fight between rogues. All around not the hottest spot within Arkham's walls, and with only two guards posted at the rooms entrance, not the safest spot either.

The bickering started the moment everyone found their seats. The usual complaining about why they were there, who they sat next to, and when the session was going to be over was a loud and obnoxious buzz about Rachel's ears. Even if she had tried to listen to what everyone was saying she wouldn't have been able to make out much. All the various conversations blended together and filled the room like a classroom packed with over active teens.

"Rachel. Rachel? Earth to Rachel! Dawson!"

The voice of Edward Nygma, one of the only people Rachel could call her 'friends' in Arkham, snapped her out of her musings. With annoyance swimming in his eyes and his hand waving like a mad mans in front of Rachel's face, he gave her a look of contempt. If there was anything that got under Nygma's skin, it was being ignored; that and Batman, but we don't talk about that.

Rachel blinked her eyes that were glossed over with thought and gave him her full attention. "I _said_, what did Quinn and Ivy want with you?" he repeated slowly, as if speaking to an ignorant child. Rachel opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by the abrupt clapping of Dr. Michaels.

"Alright everyone!" he shouted cheerfully above the noise, clapping his hands thrice to get the groups attention. Slowly the room simmered down to a quiet, all eyes on the much-to-enthusiastic doctor. Dr. Michaels was a favorite among the staff at Arkham. He was always seen with a quirky smile on his lips, and his eyes always shone with a mirthful enthusiasm like that of a child; making him one of the most charismatic doctors to inhabit the asylum. However this didn't make him a push over. He could switch almost eerily to an all business professional that could rip you apart with nothing but big words and sharp and stabbing sentences. Don't be fooled by that welcoming smile, there was a reason he was appointed to Arkham's most dangerous inmates. He just happened to look rather cheerful while doing it.

Personally, he was one of Rachel's favorite doctors. He would genuinely listen to your problems, treat you like a normal human being, and he was rather easy on the eyes too. Unlike a few of the other members of Arkham's staff who treated her like the scourge of the Earth and immediately grouped her in with Gotham's worst without hearing her story. Dr. Michaels was always patient with her, a true gentleman despite her unfortunate predicament. In fact, he was the only person to hold a door open for her when not propped open by a guard.

So she had a small crush on the guy? He was nicer than any of the other guys in Arkham and Gotham to boot. She gave him her full attention.

"Who does he think he is? Clapping his hands like that…" Edward growled under his breath. Rachel gave him a curt glare, a silent gesture meaning 'shut the hell up', before returning her attention to the good doctor.

Dr. Michaels settled himself into his own chair, setting his briefcase down beside his chair, and shuffling the papers he then attached to his clipboard. Steadying his pen between his fingers he cleared his throat lightly, effectively getting the groups attention. "Today's topic of discussion is fears." Dr. Michaels began and in an instant the room resounded with groans of all kinds from everyone except Rachel and Jonathan Crane who sat in silence.

"Oh _come on!_" snapped Nygma, "That's just going to get Crane off! I'm not about to aid that freak in getting a stiff one by sharing _my_ fears"

Never mind the fact that what he said was completely vulgar, but calling the self proclaimed _'Master of Fear'_ a freak to his face wasn't exactly the smartest thing in the world to do. Therefore Rachel could only gawk at Edwards's complete disregard for common decency and intelligence. It was no surprise that Crane glared daggers him, his contempt for the rogue radiating in waves. It was always the silent ones you had to watch out for.

As everyone started to agree with Nygma, Dr. Michaels was determined not to be bullied out of control of his own session. "That's enough!" he shouted, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses, tapping into that dark place Rachel only saw when things got out of hand. "Fears may play a vital role as to why each one of you is in here" he explained, "By tapping into the most vulnerable parts of our minds we can uncover what motivates us to do the things we do. I advise you all cooperate otherwise I will have no problem sending each and every one of you down to isolation for the rest of the month. _Do you understand?_"

No one spoke, but the tension in the room was almost suffocating. If you thought about all the egos and the prides that were currently being stifled unpleasantly, it was no surprise.

Taking a deep and cleansing breath, Dr. Michaels resumed his usual cheerful demeanor. "Now" he said in that musical sing song voice of his, "Who would like to go first?"

Silence.

"Harleen" he said to the woman on his left, "Why don't you start us off?"

"Its Harley bub" she scowled, "And why do I have to start? Make him start!" she whined, pointing an accusing finger at Jervis who sat awkwardly on the doctor's right. The Mad Hatter shifted uncomfortably in his plastic chair at the sudden attention. Dr. Michaels gave Harley a knowing look before she quieted down, her shoulders falling into herself as she twisted in her chair nervously.

"It's Mistah J." she confessed sadly after a few beats, her baby blue eyes pinned to the scuffed linoleum floor. Needless to say that got everyone's attention. As all eyes were staring at her meek form Dr. Michaels decided to push this new found discovery and see what else he could uncover. It was so hard to get these patients to talk about their feelings; this new breakthrough was just too good to pass up.

"You're afraid of the Joker, Harley?" he asked delicately, his chocolate eyes peering over black rimmed spectacles.

Harley's head snapped up, her eyes as wide as pie tins, practically knocking the chair out from under herself. "Are you _crazy_!" she exclaimed, her fingers clinging to each side of the chair's surface in an attempt to stay seated, "Why on Earth would I be afraid of Mistah J.?" she went on, her eyes tearing up at the very idea. "I _love_ my puddin' and always _will_!"

"But you said…" Dr. Michaels began; Harley was quick to cut him off. "_I know what I said!_ You didn't let me _finish_! God can't a girl have her one dramatic moment?" Dr. Michaels nodded simply in reply, letting her have her instant to calm herself before going on.

"I'm afraid of my puddin' out there all _alone_ in the big _bad_ world" she began, her eyes glossing over as she stared through the empty space between Rachel and Edward longingly. Rachel felt rather uncomfortable all of a sudden. "What if something were to happen to him? He needs me and I'm stuck _here!_ What good am I to him if I'm in this dump?" Snapping out of her trance, Harley proceeded to stomp the floor in her own tantrum as she fought the tears that threatened to spill. "Mistah J could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere for all I know!"

"Gotham could _be_ so lucky" muttered Nygma sarcastically from the other side of the room.

"Harley" cooed an affectionate velvet voice from one Poison Ivy who sat to her immediate left. "Why do you concern yourself with a guy like him?" she asked, genuinely concerned. She draped a long and perfectly poised arm over the distressed girls shoulder, pulling her into a sisterly embrace. "Can't you see what he's doing to you?"

"What about you Miss Ivy?" interrupted Dr. Michaels, knowing full well it was best to nip this conversation early before it got out of hand. Obviously he was speaking from experience.

"What about me?" she asked; venom dripping from her lips, no pun intended. "What do you fear?" replied Dr. Michaels as politely as he could.

"Pass" replied Ivy nonchalantly as she waved the subject off. "I'm afraid you've used up all your passes along with everyone else in this room" Dr. Michaels said, "Please answer the question Ms. Isley, this is all to help you" "Who says we need helping" she countered, gesturing to the rest of the rogues in the room. There were grumbles of agreement rising from the others. "The families of all those you've killed and many more" answered Michaels softly, knowing this was quite the touchy subject. "All of you filthy humans deserve to _die_. You kill our mother everyday with your shopping malls, your pollution, and your _children_!" she exclaimed, sudden passion surging through her eyes. "Can't you see what you're doing to her? You apes are all the _same_!"

"So you fear mother nature being destroyed?" interjected Dr. Michaels. The room fell silent as Ivy glued her eyes to Dr. Michaels, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were growing white. "The sounds" she spat, her whole body shaking as she bit back the urge to lash out. "The sound of splintering wood, lawn mowers, and the sound of flowers screaming while you trim and cut them down for your landscapes. Can't you hear them? They're begging you to stop!"

"There, there Red. Don't you worry, one day all those people are gonna get what's coming to 'em" cooed Harley Quinn as she returned the sentiments from earlier by leaning over to embrace the distraught female. "Thanks Harl", Ivy replied as she dabbed the tears that swelled in her eyes.

"See what you did! You made her cry! I hope you're ashamed of yourself mister!" Harley yelled, her eyes glaring daggers at the doctor.

"What about you Selina?" Dr. Michaels inquired, choosing to ignore Harley's outburst and continue on with the meeting. There was nothing to be done once she was in this state. "You had mentioned in our last meeting about the incident with the dogs"

The woman in question visibly flinched. "It was exactly as I said last time doctor" she replied, keeping her cool as best she could despite her pride. "Those beasts with their red eyes devoured those stray cats. You could hear their little voices calling out for help. Where was I? Broken on the floor by a couple of Gothams finest" she hissed sarcastically, referring to of course a couple of the many thugs that walked the town at night. This was of course before she had her feline transformation. Her eyes narrowed viciously into the doctors. The poor guy was taking all the heat today.

"Crane?" asked Dr. Michaels, switching his attention to the next patient. This wasn't his first time around the block; he knew all too well that if you pushed one patient to far, all hell would break loose.

"_Doctor_ Crane", replied the man in question. "I may be a resident here, but I earned my title. I'd appreciate it if you'd recognize it"

The good doctor sighed, trying to keep his composure. If there was one thing that got under his skin, it was renegade professionals who went bad and still insisted on being esteemed. "With all do respect" Dr. Michaels said, adjusting his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His cheerful demeanor dropped and replaced by and icy frost that crept into his eyes. "You were stripped of your title the moment you broke the Hippocratic Oath"

Silence enveloped the room for the third time that hour.

"Now" resumed Dr. Michaels, his cheerful façade back in an instant. "Jonathan, what do you fear?" asked Dr. Michaels, peering over his glasses.

All eyes fixed themselves onto the man in question.

"I _am_ fear doctor" sounded the carefully crafted reply, his words thought out before they were even spoken.

"Oh give me a break" groaned the unmistakable voice of Edward Nygma who rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Excuse me?" answered Crane, his voice level and crisp, while his frost colored eyes glared dangerously in his direction. He was walking on thin ice.

"You have more fears than anyone else in this room!"

"The _Master of Fear_" interjected Dr. Michael's soft voice, stopping an argument before it had a chance to start. "That's what they call you isn't it?"

"Indeed it is _doctor_" he replied with the lightest hiss.

"Tell me," he went on, "can fear itself fear? Or perhaps can fear, _fear_, fear? What I mean is Jonathan; can you, the _'Master of Fear'_ be afraid of fear itself? Of being scared? Everyone has fears Jonathan, even you. We're all human after all"

For a brief moment the others in the room thought Scarecrow to be had, to finally be beaten at his own game; Dr. Michaels knew better however. He may have won the last battle, but to win twice in a row would be asking for a miracle. This man was convinced of his psychosis; that and he indeed _was_ a trained professional, understanding the mind on a deeper level than most therapists here. Combine the two and you had a dangerous result; that result being Scarecrow.

"Fear, _doctor_, has nothing to fear" stated Jonathan simply. He didn't bother to enlighten the room as to why he believed that, to defend his case, or even to outwit the good doctor. He didn't feel the need to waste the effort on it.

"Harvey, What about you?" asked Dr. Michaels, moving on.

Harvey Dent; Two-Face to those poor souls who have come face to face with him and were lucky enough to survive, looked up from his folded hands with that trademark sneer of his. The man straightened out his back and slowly unfolded his hands. Concealed in his palm was a single silver coin. It wasn't his coin, as patients weren't allowed any possessions, so no doubt he had assaulted a guard and obtained it from him. Dr. Michaels wondered for an instant if the poor soul was still alive somewhere. He would have to alert someone of that later.

"What do you say for a little wager?" Two-Face inquired, flashing the coin between his right middle and index fingers. "Heads I talk; tales I don't."

Dr. Michaels sighed as the coin was launched into the air.

As the coin landed in Harvey's hand neatly, the man couldn't hold back a laugh that rang out like hells bells. "Ohh rotten luck doctor! Better luck next time?" Two-Face cackled, "Next!"

Without waiting a beat the next patient began to talk. "The mark, I need the mark…" Victor Zsasz muttered as he rocked back and fourth.

Dr. Michaels moved on, seeing the clock ticking away. The session was almost over and he still needed to get through three patients, one of whom hadn't shared anything deeply personal yet. "Mr. Nygma, what do you fear?"

The Riddler scoffed in reply, his eyes still narrowed in Cranes direction. Someone knew how to hold a grudge. "You know doc, I've always had a fear of plants in student made ceramic pots. You know the ones with lumpy sides and bad paint designs?"

From the other side of the circle Ivy glowered, her knuckles turning white again. She had to remind herself that she couldn't risk being thrown into solitary confinement. Not today, not for tonight.

Doctor Michaels once again adjusted his glasses as he took another cleansing breath. He knew it was best not to try to get involved. "Miss Dawson" he said swiftly, turning in his chair slightly to give her his full attention. "We've hardly heard anything from you since you've arrived. Would you mind sharing?" Out of all his patients, she was one of the few he believed to be wrongfully incarcerated here, so he tried to make her stay as comfortable as possible. Lord knows it wasn't easy.

Rachel blushed lightly at his kind tone of voice and shifted uncomfortably in her plastic chair. From opposite her Jonathan Crane leaned forward in his, his hands folded attentively to carefully listen to her every word.

"You don't have to answer" Eddie whispered to her, for the first time in minutes taking his eyes off of Crane to rest on her awkward form.

"_She wants to_…" spoke the soft voice of Jonathan Crane, surprising everyone.

All eyes of course shifted over to him.

"Are you _blind_?" Edward retaliated, "She clearly doesn't!"

"What? You can't see it?" he replied calmly.

As silence yet again enveloped the room, the tension rose to dangerous levels.

"Go on Ms. Dawson" urged Crane smoothly, "_What do you fear_?"

Rachel Dawson stared at the ground, feeling all the eyes of the room waiting for an answer, like vultures to a carcass. She could see out of the corner of her eye Dr. Michaels looking at her considerately, Edward looking unnerved, and Crane looking anxious. She knew she didn't have to answer, and though she didn't want to admit it, Jonathan Crane was right. She _did_ want to answer. As far as she could remember she never told anyone about her fears, and lately she'd been having increasingly bad dreams about them. The walls of Arkham had a way of bringing them out in full. It must be something about the screams and cries of the inmates at night and the isolated cells that held nothing but memories of past residents that did it. Perhaps if she talked about them they might start to go away. After all, that's what therapy was supposed to do right?

But Crane, the self proclaimed Master of Fear was in the room. Was it so wise to share her fears with someone so notorious in the same space?

"S-Suffocating and being buried alive" she found herself saying meekly, "dying alone"

Eyes shifted from Rachel's uncomfortable form to Crane's engrossed hunched forward figure. He looked as stoic as ever, his emotions expertly hidden thanks to the therapist inside him.

After a moment Dr. Michaels asked Jervis to continue, feeling Rachel's discomfort. He would take this up in a private session. As it was though, it was not exactly safe to explore this new discovery now, not with Jonathan Crane in the room. He seemed to take a special interest in her.

Jervis seemed just as nervous as Rachel was. "If everyone minded their own _business_, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does" he quoted.

The meeting wrapped up pretty quickly after that.

Everyone rose from their uncomfortable plastic seats, some thankful that the session was over while others groaned about how much of a waste of time it was. However there were those few that said nothing at all, Rachel Dawson being one of them and Edward Nygma being not.

As Edward fumed to himself, Rachel followed the stream of departing patients through the steal door where guards would then escort each one of them to their designated cells. Suddenly, Dr. Michaels discreetly pulled her aside, watching Edward and Jervis go on just ahead of her. She didn't complain. Any moment spared from her cell was greatly appreciated.

"I'm glad you shared today" he started, keeping his hands to himself as he held onto his black clipboard. Adjusting his glasses for a moment he went on. "I hope to discuss this topic with you more so during one of our private sessions. I'd heard you've been having disturbing dreams from a few of the nurses on staff"

Rachel nodded, slightly embarrassed.

"I'm very proud of you" he went on, "Speaking up in an environment like this isn't easy. I'm glad you're starting to open up."

After a friendly nod on his part, Dr. Michaels went back to pick up his things from his seat, waiting for the patients to leave so he could as well.

Rachel smiled to herself and caught up with Edward and Jervis as they left the room together.

It was only a few feet before the routine escort service of guards began to take the male and females to their designated sectors of the asylum.

As they departed Rachel let her mind wander through the day's events, much like she always did as the two usual guards tried to round up the more dangerous girls. So it came as a great surprise when suddenly a voice whispered in her ear, soft and swift, making her heart skip a beat and her eyes go wide. "Suffocating and being buried alive? Very interesting Ms. Dawson" whispered the unmistakable voice of Jonathan Crane. Rachel immediately felt a chill run down her spine as her body stiffened at his presence. Looking ahead she saw that the guards were dealing with contempt Harley Quinn sharing sharp words with another inmate.

"Claustrophobia and Taphophbia", Diagnosed the former doctor with ease, like he was addressing a former patient.

"Hey Crane!" yelled a guard from a few feet away, rushing over with another, coming to collect the lamb that strayed from the flock.

"_I can help you face your fears_" he whispered directly in her ear, his breath kissing her flesh like a hot feather.

Without lingering for another moment he abruptly turned on his heel and complied with the authorities, not even flinching once the two burly guards roughly grabbed him by the arms and pulled him along.

For a moment Rachel couldn't find the strength to move, her shock still settled deep inside her bones. She could feel his eyes staring straight at her back even though she knew he was far from gone.

It wasn't until Ivy nudged her shoulder that her feet started moving. The two walked in silence until it came time to part ways, her cell being inside Arkham's botanical gardens. "We're leaving tonight" she whispered in passing as she was escorted past Rachel and down the hallway to the right.

It was a long and heart pounding walk back to her cell after that with no other surprising or unwanted company. It was just her and her thoughts, which in some cases was worse. This was undoubtedly one of those times. Rachel never counted the guard escorting her as company. He worked more like a shadow.

All the way back to her cell she heard the unmistakable voice of Jonathan Crane echo within the confines of her mind.

"_I can help you face your fears…_"

She had no doubt about that.

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Well that was certainly exciting. I hope you all enjoyed it! Stay tuned for the next installment of The Classified Files of Patient #17285!

Will Rachel and the girls get out of Arkham alive?

Will Jonathan Crane indulge in his sick new obsession?

Will Eddie go to anger management?

We won't know until I write it! Thank you everyone for reading and don't forget to review!

**Riddle Me This: **

_**White when dirty, black when clean. What am I?**_


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